Tangible
by trufflemores
Summary: Early Klaine shmoop.


At what point does _I love you_ become tangible?

Somewhere between the casual shoulder touch – _oh, hey, yeah, this is my boyfriend, Kurt_ – and the smooth graze of a hand along his spine – _you're quiet._

 _No, I'm being passive aggressive,_ Kurt quips, without entirely meaning to – the Warblers are _nice,_ he wants to make _friends_ – but it's altogether too easy to let it slide off his tongue when it elicits that fond grin.

 _I totally know what you're talking about, and I can't believe you remember it, too, but seriously, this is a good thing,_ it says.

Or something like that. Kurt knows that he and Blaine don't communicate perfectly without words, but they're getting better. Like charades. It's either love or the buzz of the party, and Kurt decides that he doesn't need it to be perfectly exclusive to be happy.

Because Blaine loves to _give._ He loves to throw himself on stage and sing until he can't speak the next morning. He loves to talk with everyone, introduce himself, shake hands, tell jokes. He exchanges numbers without batting an eyelash (twice, Kurt has to gently remind the Crawford County girls how very taken Blaine is because he's too sweet for his own good). He likes to be noticed, but he also likes to notice other people: if there's a conversation, he's in. Not a king, but a diplomat.

Kurt's different. He's quiet. Or so he's been told. On stage, he doesn't regard himself as quiet, although he can't belt like Blaine can. Not in Blaine's range, anyway. He can definitely belt in _his_ range, and that's impressive. But maybe that's how everything works: he's always stepping at a slightly different tune, just a little off-beat. When he talks with other people, their conversations don't carry: they end without fanfare, like candles. Definitively.

But that's what Blaine sees in him that other people don't, maybe. He's not tone-deaf. He doesn't _hate_ other people, and he doesn't dislike parties, and he isn't above anyone. (Except, maybe, people who wear crocs, but he's worked with enough children to forgive the sins of the father for the sake of the kid who just wants to play football).

He just has his own method. His own rhythm.

Blaine sees that, embraces it. On some level, Kurt thinks, they're harmonic. They _work._

They're different, and it chafes at times – when Blaine just wants to _go_ and Kurt just wants to _stop,_ and compromise is alone time. He knows that Blaine wants him to be a bit more like Blaine and he wants Blaine to be a bit more like him, but it never extends beyond idle fancies.

Because when they're alone, between kisses and I love yous – god, he wouldn't change a thing.

So when the party drags deep into the night, Kurt mingles. He drinks a little. He finds a niche, a seat for himself where no one seems to be clamoring to take it from him. It takes him a while to relax, but he does, because there is something very right about it. He isn't a stand-in for Blaine or anyone else: he's someone, too, and that's what counts.

He sits and when they drift he doesn't wander, stays instead, capturing the moment in his mind. Warblers spread across the room, the fireplace crackling, thunder rumbling distantly outside. It's warm and safe and bright, and between the red and gold of the fire Kurt thinks _this is what Hogwarts must be like._

He can see why Blaine loves it. He kind of loves it, too.

Except he's sore, sore in a way he can't describe, like it's sitting in his bones, gnawing from the inside out. He's also exhausted, and hide it though he might behind a small, polite smile, it begins to fade around halfway through the night, somewhere past ten but not quite midnight.

"You okay?" Blaine asks, sliding onto the arm of the chair.

Kurt doesn't say anything for a moment, categorizing, attempting to articulate his own discomfort.

Then he tilts his head and rests it against Blaine's arm instead.

There's a beat, and Blaine relaxes, staying like that for a moment, each deep, warm breath palpable through his skin, and Kurt loves him, loves him, with every heartbeat because he's kind and good and he doesn't care that Kurt _is,_ he _loves_ Kurt.

So he abandons the party, bids farewell with apologetic smiles but absolutely no apology in the way he tucks an arm around Kurt's waist and escorts him past smiling faces and "have a good night, Kurt!"

They're so welcoming. Kurt's already enchanted.

There's a little ache in his heart that says _McKinley,_ but it's muted, dulled by the reality.

They reach Kurt's car and there's a moment when Kurt reaches for the door and Blaine asks with lifted eyebrows and a gentling hand on his arm and Kurt wordlessly passes him the keys.

The kiss Blaine presses to his cheek is nice, Kurt thinks, a little off-center in that quick _Iloveyou_ way, and he can feel it all the way into the dreams that chase him home.

He tips his head against the passenger side window, closes his eyes, and disappears for a while, blinking awareness again as they pull into his driveway.

Blaine doesn't even crack a yawn despite the hour, nor show the slightest hint of fatigue as he hops out of the car and wanders over to Kurt's side.

Kurt's dad is awake. Kurt isn't surprised, but he does blink twice when Burt looks Blaine over, clears his throat, and announces that he can stay the night, if he'd like.

Blaine flashes Kurt a nervous smile, expresses his profound gratitude, locks the front door behind him as a cursory politeness, and leads the way upstairs, Kurt trailing behind him.

It's nice, not having to be the center of attention. Around Blaine, he's dimmer, in a cool color way. Not bad, but different. Like snow. Fire and snow.

He's loopy, he thinks, and he might be spiking a fever, but none of that matters as Blaine shuffles them down the hallway. Finn's snoring like a tractor already, and Kurt wonders what lies behind that closed door before banishing it from his thoughts.

It's very cordial, Kurt thinks, but also familiar, in an oddly heart-tugging way. When Blaine slides out of his blazer and into a spare set of Kurt's old pajamas, he thinks that he might have done it a hundred times for how little he reacts. It's wonderful.

He doesn't have to _be_ anything for Blaine: polite, friendly, upbeat, warm. He can simply be, and that's enough, and it's like a heartbeat. It's calming.

There's an implication, and they're careful, but in the end Kurt's tucked, back to chest, unable to see but able to feel him, and he thinks he has never been more in love.

I love you is the way Blaine doesn't complete him but makes him feel complete.


End file.
